My Son, the Hero
by TripleC Squared
Summary: The Potters write about Harry.
1. Chapter 1

When Dumbledore first told us the prophecy, I told him firmly it wasn't Harry.

An ingrained motherly reaction, I suppose, who wants their child to have such a terrible destiny?

I suppose that at the time I believed my own denial that Harry was just like any other magical child.

Oh I wanted him to be special, of course, but by his own skills not by some crazy woman's prophecy. I wanted Harry to live in a world where he felt safe, and valued. More than anything.

In those first few months, I was safe within my denials. By Harry's first Christmas, I wasn't so sure. You see, magic is inherent, but just like walking, it is something learned. In all the books I'd read about magical babies, it was firm that the earliest a baby would show the signs of being magical was a year...the latest being perhaps six or several.

Harry was doing conscious magic, summoning and the like, by his fifth month.

It truly frightened me, for my little darling baby was showing more and more signs of being the child in the prophecy. James heralded it the second coming of Merlin, and he and Sirius were quick to teach Harry more and more spells.

Harry was like a magical sponge, absorbing everything he saw. By six months, it was impossible to keep him in his crib, or keep something away from him. He seemed naturally inclined to simply summon an item, instead of getting up and walking to it.

When I asked Alice, nervously, about young Neville, she laughed and said they weren't expecting magic for at least another six months, and asked me why I was worried...

I didn't tell her, I couldn't. We didn't even tell Dumbledore.

I hated it, I hated the woman who had made the prophecy that had marked my baby special and dangerous, and I hated the fact that it had changed our lives so much. But I never hated Harry; I loved my little boy, so, so much. I'd have bartered the world to glimpse a smile on his chubby little face. My sweet little baby, I always feared what lay in store for him. Voldemort was searching, James, Sirius, everyone knew...he was searching for my little Harry, who didn't have a clue what was going on or why he couldn't play with his playmates anymore. Dumbledore had decided it was far safer to keep Neville and Harry as far apart as possible, and I couldn't blame him...he didn't know that it was Harry that snake was looking for...how could he, when I wouldn't let anyone know but my dear circle of friends?

By the time of his first Birthday, Harry was a happy, mobile, magic caster. He didn't need a wand to pull his tricks, though it seemed to help a bit whenever he got his hands on James' or mine. With every day, I got just a little more scared for my bright little boy...When Dumbledore came to us with the idea for a secret keeper, I agreed with James and Sirius, I told Peter little, but enough...and now...I'm scared...so scared, for my little boy...I love him so much, and I don't think I could bear to lose him to that snake...or to anyone...Not my Harry.

But if something happens to James or I, I want Harry to know he's loved, that I loved him, and nothing could ever change that. I want him to grow up happy with Sirius and Remus and Peter, if James and I can't be there for him. I want him to grow up assured of his place in the world...I love you, Harry. Never doubt that your mother loved you.

Lily Potter,

Oct. 31.


	2. Chapter 2

I **_loath_** hiding.

It makes me feel useless, you know? I've always been the type to go out there and make things happen.

I guess that's the Gryffindor in me…

It's hard, sitting here day after day, just waiting for something to happen…or, hopefully, for nothing to happen.

Lily, Lily's been so calm throughout this, from the point that Dumbledore told us the prophecy with Harry still just a few days old, to now, when we're prisoners in our own home out of fear that the monster who's hunting us might find Harry.

I really admire my wife; she just takes everything in stride, shrugs her shoulders and works to make the best of it.

Harry's been wonderfully tolerant over the fact that we're having trouble letting him out of our sight…but you know, when a madman is hunting for your 15-month-old, it's hard to help the terror that fills you when he's out of sight for even a moment.

I'd give anything to be out there doing something.

She'd be mad at me if she knew I was writing this, she says we need to keep in good spirits for Harry.

But…I'm scared; scared that maybe none of us will survive this. Scared, most of all, that Harry might not survive this. Oh yeah, I'm scared for Lily and me, but…Harry hasn't even had a chance to live yet. He's never had a chance to do anything.

If Dumbledore is right, and by Merlin, I hope he isn't, Harry could be the only thing really able to stop Voldemort…

What kind of life is that for a child? Growing up, knowing that you're nothing but a tool for the good guys to use to take out the bad guys? Who does that, I mean, what higher power looks down, causally points to an infant and decides that he's supposed to be a hero!

I don't want that for my son.

I want him to grow up, go to Hogwarts, fall in love, have his uncles and his parents make fun of him at his wedding…and know he's loved, that he's nobody's weapon. I want him to grow up with no greater weight around his shoulders than that of what every other kid worries about.

I don't want my son to be the hero.

But, truthfully, I think he is.

I've spoken to Frank, about Neville; he says Neville has been as normal as can be, your average 15-month-old, wizard baby.

I hated Frank, at that moment, looking at his tiny son and realizing that it would be mine that had to fulfill this stupid prophecy, and why? Because some woman said a few words and by some chance roll of the dice my son was chosen.

It's easier to be angry than scared.

It was easier to be mad that Frank and Alice drew the lucky lot that gave them a child with no grand destiny.

Than to be scared over the fact that someday Harry is going to have to kill or be killed.

I look at my son, my perfect little boy, his mother's eyes gazing back at me, and I want to fall down and beg some higher power to take away this axe that is hanging over our heads and just let him be Harry.

Nothing more than Harry.

And Merlin, if somebody up there is listening, I don't care if it costs me my life, just so long as my son gets to live his.

James Potter, October 31.


End file.
